


Roleswap

by cyndrat



Series: Detroit: Reverse Roles [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Android Hank Anderson, Anxiety, Anxious Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Likes Dogs, Depression, Gen, Hank is concerned, Hank sort of knows what he's doing, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Human Upgraded Connor | RK900, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insomnia, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, Rating May Change, Role Reversal, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Tags May Change, depressed Connor, the character death is Cole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-07 21:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15916965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyndrat/pseuds/cyndrat
Summary: What if Connor was the DPD's rising star lieutenant, and Hank was the android sent by CyberLife?/let's explore a few scenes using this reversed dynamic/





	1. <Partners>

**Author's Note:**

> whoops?  
> came across D:BH on pinterest, decided to find a playthrough on youtube because I figured it's unlikely I'll acquire both an appropriate game console to play this game and the game itself  
> and then I started having feelings? about androids having feelings?...  
> and then I rifled through some of the stuff posted here on AO3, and then my brain went 'hey you know what would be fun? reimagining some scenes but with human/android-hank/connor reversed. specifically, _this_ scene'  
>  and of course I went 'okay sure this won't be emotional at all'  
> and then it was emotional and more stuff occurred to me and I figured might as well start writing? and post? SO here's 'chapter 1'  
> I do NOT plan to write every scene with Connor and/or Hank, these are gonna be piecemeal scenes the way I imagine they might have gone, potentially in something of a random order, and I make no promises as to how many I'll write. also no promises as to grammar/flow/whatever because I have no beta or editor other than myself and I'm not planning to spend a ton of time going over every scene before posting

"Lieutenant Anderson?" The gruff voice is accompanied by a _presence_ at his shoulder, and Connor sighs as he lifts the glass to his lips, taking another swallow of the whiskey he's still trying to convince himself he likes. He sets the glass back down and turns.

"Yeah?" he asks, looking up - up to a glowing blue triangle - and up, and up to a grizzled face that looks a few decades older than the humans most androids these days are designed to emulate.

"My name is Hank, I'm the android sent by Cyberlife." What the hell? "I looked for you at the station, but nobody knew where you were. Someone said you were probably having a drink nearby. Luckily, I found you at only the fifth bar."

Connor sighs again, catching the concerned look Jim throws his way and the wary glance at the android. "Great," he mumbles, looking back to his drink. "What do you want?" Maybe it'll leave if he ignores it or pisses it off. Maybe. But it mentioned the station, so whatever this is, it's probably tied to work in some way, which means it'll be hard to brush off in the end, assuming the android isn't a complete pushover.

It straightens, seeming even taller above him, and clasps its hands behind its back. Oh boy. "You were assigned a case earlier this evening. A homicide, involving a CyberLife android. In accordance with procedure, the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators." It pauses, watching him for some sort of reaction.

Yeah, he remembers seeing the notification, but as it arrived after he was already an hour and a half gone from the station, Connor had elected to ignore it in favour of returning to his attempts to condition his body. He presses his lips together and draws breath, but lets it out quietly. Another sigh would only draw more attention. "What makes you so specialized huh, aside from looking miles older than any police aide model I've seen?" The android opens its mouth, but Connor whips up a hand to stop it. "Nuh-uh, I don't care." He takes another drink, then sweeps his gaze up to the android's face again. _All the way up._ Fucking hell, why's the thing gotta be so much taller than him? "I'm sure there's officers on-scene already, why don't you toddle over there and 'assist' them?"

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I must insist." Damn android looks like it would sigh at his behaviour. But it would need breath to do that. "My instructions stipulate that I have to accompany you."

"Fuck your instructions," Connor grumbles. An instant later, the glass is plucked from his fingers and he's staring at his empty palm. "W-what the hell?"

The android blinks at him, expression a nearly serene neutral as it deposits the glass within Jim's reach. And out of Connor's. "All finished, I see. Let's go Lieutenant." Connor stammers something - he isn't sure what the words are supposed to be, they got away from him a little before they reached his mouth, but the thought is there. The android reaches down, grabs his arm, and lifts him neatly from his seat, turning him towards the door. Planting his feet, Connor stalls, looking to Jim with wide eyes. The bartender looks back, with surprise at the strength of the android in his gaze while he shrugs helplessly. Not that he would help, probably, Connor's closed out the bar a few too many times by now to get sympathy at the sight of someone - something - else levering his ass off one of the stools. "We have an investigation to attend to," the android says, sounding entirely too cheerful as it nudges him forwards with measured force. Connor moves his feet, more than conscious enough to realize he has to move or risk faceplanting under the insistent pressure.

"Stop it, stop," he grumbles, swinging a hand at the android as he takes a step to get out of its reach. "I can walk just fine on my own, got it?" And so he does, moving at his regular casual pace as he readjusts to standing and walking from sitting and drinking.

He pushes the door open, holding it just a touch longer than he usually does when it's just him without thinking about it. The android takes hold of the door, walking out after him. Connor shoves one hand into a pocket, coming back out with a set of car keys, and he strides towards his car. "You said homicide, right?"


	2. <The Bridge>

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a rewrite of 'The Bridge'  
> (with an extension of the game scene/an extra scene following immediately after)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the one that started everything - the one I went huh, how might this turn out differently if-?  
> THIS ONE is also SIGNIFICANTLY longer than the first chap, over twice the word count whaaaat?
> 
> NEW TAG(S) ADDED: Suicidal Thoughts; Suicide Attempt  
> these apply to THIS chapter. I took a version of what happens in the game and twisted it a little, and Connor is Not In A Good Place for a good chunk of this chapter.  
> I hesitate to label it 'suicide attempt' because I think it counts but am a little iffy about it, but I think the tag needs to be there for anyone who does want or need that warning.  
> Also, side note, I've seen a fair variation in Connor's height vs Hank's in fanart and such, so for this work I'm working with the top of Connor's head coming up to Hank's nose or eye level maybe.

"What happens if you die, hm? Nothing? Oblivion? Android heaven?" Connor feels a sort of detachedness as he levels his standard DPD issue gun at Hank. The android seems perhaps a little startled by the sudden move, but otherwise entirely unconcerned, and that is- it's fucking _frustrating_ , to threaten something that looks so much like just another human being and to have exactly no response. The _thing_ in front of him is so nearly human, yet notably inhuman in too many ways. Connor wants to tear his hair out. But he focuses on the cold, focuses on his aim and on Hank's blank face, and he finds it isn't so hard to hold a straight face himself while holding his breath, waiting for an answer.

Hank stares him out for a moment, as if waiting for a bout of silliness to be tided over by rationality. Eventually, he blinks - needlessly - and speaks. "You know you're not going to shoot me Lieutenant. You're just trying to provoke a reaction, and I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you."

"Huh," Connor says, and flips his gun, twisting his wrist to set the muzzle under his chin. Hank's shoulders tense. Interesting.

"Lieutenant." Hank lifts a hand in a calming gesture, expression something slightly less than dead neutral. The android steps forward, and Connor takes two back, quickly enough that Hank stops in his tracks. "Lieutenant, this is-"

"What? This is what, Hank, childish? Silly? Unnecessary, irrational?" Connor spits, feeling frustration coax up a sense of inferiority, the two incredibly familiar emotions twisting together in a dance he hadn't quite anticipated. "What would you care, anyways? NK800, deviant hunter, state of the art prototype, with the luxury of being hyper focused on the primary objective every damn minute. I'm just slowing you down, really, we both fucking know it!" He gasps in a breath after the outburst, aware, in that detached sense again, that he's getting worked up. That wasn't what he intended to do tonight, but the original plan after Hank walked over to the bench is slipping from his mind's grasp while his hands are perfectly still. Hank takes another step, Connor nearly skips backwards in his effort to maintain the distance. He's fooling himself if he thinks the android wouldn't be able to move and wrench the cold metal from his fingers before he could shoot, but the question, the _real question_ is whether Hank would bother to expend the energy.

And why would he? It's true, Connor was the rising star of the precinct, youngest Lieutenant in decades, if not in the entirety of their records. He's still young, comparatively, and in fairly good shape, but he'll never be as good as any android, let alone a fucking investigative _prototype_. They don't have any problem shutting down for the night to rest and recollect, just going into stasis mode when needed, as easy as flicking one fucking switch. They don't get upset or irritable, they don't overwork themselves into a jittery, anxious wreck, they can't! What is Connor to the deviancy investigation, aside from a fingerprint to unlock shit, and a fragile human to be protected? Hank's saved his life twice already that he can immediately think of, and Connor doesn't doubt that the number would continue to rack up if they continued taking on every single fucking android case that crosses Fowler's desk.

He blinks slowly in an attempt to centre himself, drawing in a breath of cold, sharp air. It tastes like night, like winter, and fuck if that isn't the perfect metaphor for death that every english teacher ever has pounded into his head. He licks his lips, the simple flavour of the cranberry orange muffin he forced himself to eat an hour ago suddenly making him feel an ache of nausea.

The swingset draws his gaze for a moment, and he can almost imagine- he can almost imagine Cole sitting and chattering there, with Nines drifting gently in the swing beside him while Connor pushes the youngest Anderson, each one of them soaking up a rare full day with both of his brothers. A shuffle of fabric has him whipping his focus back to Hank, the android stilling where he's come a few paces closer to Connor. There's still a fair distance between them, and Connor feels faint at the idea of trying to calculate how quickly Hank would actually have to move to reach him. He blinks again, wondering if Hank's expression has shifted in response to something in Connor's own body language changing or if his eyes are just tearing up. The edges of Hank's figure seem a little fuzzy, so tears seem the likelier of the two.

Clenching his free hand, Connor lets his eyes drop closed, shifting his finger on the trigger.

His face is blanketed by soft fabric an instant later, warmth emanating from the body and arms wrapped around him. Goddamn it. Fucking android decided to... Connor hiccups a breath and brings his fist up to Hank's chest, hitting him with what strength he can call up before leaning in, tired of holding up his own body. If Hank's determined to delay the end of Connor's existence, then he can fucking take the weight of everything for once. Damn machine probably won't feel an ounce of it, too analytical and calm and focused for the burdens of one pathetic human to have any effect.

"Why," Connor mumbles into Hank's chest, his fingers grabbing onto the open edges of Hank's stupid jacket. He sees the cool glow of the triangle on the jacket's left breast in the corner of his eye and turns his head away from it, only to be greeted by the same glow of the jacket's armband. Squeezing his eyes shut instead, he presses his forehead against Hank's shoulder, feeling one arm around him tighten for a second. For what feels like a long moment, Connor kind of wonders what happened to his gun - he can feel that Hank's arms are both wrapped around him, with no telltale hard metal shape - but he doesn't exactly... he doesn't care? Like yeah, if he loses it, there'll be paperwork to fill out and a fee docked from his next paycheck, but... He doesn't have the _appetite_ for holding on to anything apart from the stupid grey jacket he's already clinging to.

Hank acts like he didn't hear anything. "Let's go Lieutenant. Your body temperature is low; you should get indoors where you can warm up to a more acceptable temperature." Connor just hmms in response. _This_ is acceptable. Hank is emitting a comfortable heat, besides, Connor's been cold before. This is nothing, not yet. A couple hours out in this wind and snow maybe, and he would be finding it hard to move his limbs. Hey, there's an idea... He's got nowhere to be, and if anyone were to ask him right now he'd admit that drowning his body and mind with alcohol isn't actually doing anything to help him sleep better.

His thoughts are jolted when his body is turned, Hank's hold on him changing. "Huhm?" Connor says, adjusting his grip on Hank's jacket. The android doesn't say a thing, and Connor can't quite figure out how to ask what he's doing, or if he even cares to know. A moment later, he lets out a quiet sound when Hank bends to loop one arm behind his knees, lifting him off his feet in one fell swoop. Huh. That... Okay, this is not what Connor would have expected? But okay, it means he doesn't have to pretend he's standing under his own power anymore. With a sigh he tips his head back onto Hank's shoulder, closing his eyes. Whatever the android wants to do is fine, so long as Connor doesn't have to do anything.

He's tired. His usual sort of tired, not the one where you lie down in bed and fall asleep right away. No, it's the sort where he just doesn't _care_ and he isn't focusing on anything in particular because nothing feels like it matters. The sort where he isn't hungry, where the thought of food makes him nauseous, where the snow falling on his eyelashes doesn't quite feel real.

It seems like silly repetition, to say he doesn't care, but that's the feeling pervading his body as Hank walks and deposits him in the passenger seat, one hand on the back of his head to ensure he doesn't hurt himself on the car's frame through being manhandled. That's thoughtful, as is the way Hank arranges him in the seat, knees pointing forwards and hands dropped in his lap.

"Do your seatbelt, okay?" the 'droid says, watching him for a long moment, gaze only breaking away from Connor to sweep the interior of the car quickly. Then he steps back, closes the door. Yeah, okay. Connor can do his seatbelt. He can do that, at least. Just - in a second. He needs to breathe for a moment, try to remember what that's like, feeling in control of his breathing. The not so gentle closing of the car door startles him, and he creeps his gaze sideways, feeling his pulse in his ears begin to quiet as he sees that Hank is in the car now. Hank is in the driver's seat, and hell if that isn't something Connor was adamant would never happen. Well it's happening, because Connor can't even fucking focus to complete a simple objective. Like doing up his seatbelt- Like Hank is doing for him now, leaning across the console and reaching one long arm to grab the belt, pulling it across Connor's body. He can at least lift his arms on his own so the seatbelt lies across his torso properly, right? Right, that even he can fucking do.

Hank sits back after clicking Connor's seatbelt in, watching him again. "Ready to go?" Hank has appeared to not understand all the nuances of sarcasm before, but if the question is any indication, he's got a perfect understanding of rhetorical statements. Connor manages the fraction of a nod, and Hank seems to realize that's all he's going to get.

The android turns the key, shifts into reverse, and maneuvers out of the parking lot.


	3. <The Bridge> continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: the DEPRESSION (and sort of ANXIETY) tags apply within the first half or so of this chapter, Connor isn't in the same Not Good Place, he's in a very passive, why-bother sort of mindset. SUICIDE IDEATION applies here as well, though it is milder, in a way, compared to last chapter, simply because Connor's now feeling so very tired and passive
> 
> sooo I had been thinking this would all be one chapter? but then I wrote the bulk of 'The Bridge' and basically the ending ~comfort~ scene of this, and then I was looking at the two and what I was gonna have to do to link them up aaand I just realized it was gonna be a monster if I tried to keep it all together so heRE's Part 2

Hank drives.

Connor isn't quite sure _where_ he's driving them? Because they're definitely not going the right direction to go to his house, or the station. So... yeah, that's happening.

It's a little weird to see the city so dead quiet - like yeah, Connor is out and about probably a couple times a week at this time of night, but with the snow coming silently down and someone else driving, he gets the privilege of observing the empty streets. That 'privilege' isn't helping anything, though it's better for someone else to be behind the wheel right now, because there's a chance, if he were driving, that the car would end up-

No, no he wouldn't do that. He's seen enough vehicle collisions that he isn't curious about the way his car might crunch up under pressure, not even when he feels like this.

Speaking of his car though, he stares out the smudgy windshield and it occurs to him that an interior cleaning would be good. The dashboard is dusty, with streaks where it's been brushed against with a hand or jacket or bag. Connor reaches out, sweeps a few fingers across the glove box panel. They come away brownish-grey, wearing a thicker layer of dust than he'd expected. Well that's something he can do while Hank drives them who-knows-where, he thinks he's got a tissue around somewhere. He digs in one pocket of his jacket, then the other, coming up with a hastily shoved in tissue. He uncrumples it a little and reaches out again, wiping the glove box panel down with a couple swipes, then turns his focus to the dashboard above it, leaning forwards to wipe it down with methodical movements. It's almost soothing actually, moving the tissue across the dash and darkening it with dust.

But then he looks sideways a little, and his hand drops to his lap as he thumps back in his seat. Because it isn't just the top of the dashboard, it's the radio, and the console and gearshift between the seats, and the steering wheel and display behind it...

His poor car. He spends more time in it than at his desk, most days, but he can't even be bothered to wipe it down every now and then, and it reaches this monster of a task that he couldn't hope to tackle. It's overwhelming, and he feels it in the pit of his stomach and in the way his breath comes a little shorter so he squeezes his eyes shut to block the mess out. Connor loves his car, he does, but he doesn't show it, not like his mother did for hers.

If they'd been in this car, if he'd been driving this old thing like they'd originally planned, it would have happened differently. He did the math a year or two ago, calculated forces and momentum and angles and he still hasn't dared to show his figuring to Nines but he _knows it would have been different_ -

Speaking of momentum, the car is stopped. It has been, Connor realizes, for a minute or two now, probably longer. He cracks his eyes open, seeing Hank on the edge of his view, just... looking at him. Upon seeing his eyes probably, the android turns and opens the driver door, stepping out with the same precision he does anything. The door closes behind him.

Connor should maybe get out too? but he catches a glimpse of his gun, tucked into the pocket in the door where he keeps a small umbrella. And then he can't tear his attention away, because what the hell had he been thinking earlier? Had he really intended to endanger his own life, or had he just used it as a threat to instigate some reaction in Hank when the android was more than close enough to stop him? As attempts go, it wasn't particularly well thought out, but that seems to be normal for him. He always sets himself up to have a safety net, and he isn't sure if it's because deep down he _wants_ someone to stop him or if he wants the extra stimulation of knowing it'd be just a little too easy to be stopped.

Hank is leaning in the passenger side door, saying his name and gently shaking his shoulder. The android says Connor's name sharply, and as Connor slowly turns and blinks, hands still limp in his lap, he sees that Hank had followed the direction of his gaze.

Hank gently pulls Connor out of the seat, looping an arm around Connor's waist to hold him steady and to hold him secure, also probably to avoid escape attempts. But Connor is too tired, too numb to do anything but move his feet in something resembling 'walking' that's usually so easy, comes so easy to everyone else like Hank, plodding along beside him like there's nothing dragging him down - and there is nothing really, nothing but Connor. Because Hank's an android, and they don't get ~~depressed~~ ~~anxious~~ ~~suicidal~~ ~~numb -~~

Hank must have opted for the elevator, tugging a docile Connor along with him into the box and touching the button for the second floor. He keeps looking down at Connor, who isn't fiddling with a coin or even the cuffs of his coat as Hank must have _observed_  by now that he does, a way to calm himself, to focus himself, to condense his world and his attention for a few seconds before stepping out into the work of Lieutenant Anderson.

Before Connor knows it, he's shuffling along again and then standing propped up against a warm body in front of a door that he feels like he knows- and then it opens, revealing a familiar face, a similar face, almost like a mirror. But different.

"Nines," he croaks, launching himself away from Hank to step - fall, more like - forwards into the doorway, trusting as always. His brother catches him easily, strong arms wrapping around his shoulders and pale eyes studying Hank over Connor's head.

"What happened?" RK asks, his voice thoughtfully softened for the sake of his brother. Connor likes it when his twin allows the sharp professional attitude to fade into something that isn't any less _Nines_ but is a little... a little less, letting Connor make up the difference to pull them both closer to whole together.

Hank's voice is gruff, from disuse perhaps. Yes, it was a long, silent drive from the park over to Nines' apartment, the address pulled with a fraction of a thought from the precinct's database, so disuse is a logical reason. "He needs a rest," the android says, sounding like he's more involved in Connor's wellbeing than he should be. "A decent meal, a full night of sleep maybe." Nines makes a surprised sound at that last, like he hadn't realized Connor has been running on insufficient sleep. Then again, Connor has only been coming in to the station recently to do interrogations and to pick up the latest case files before turning right around and running after deviants. So it's not like Nines has had much opportunity to see him lately.

"Thanks for delivering him," RK says, taking a step to the side and pulling a willing Connor with him. Hank nods, the action a little jerky as he moves back, out of the doorframe, and the taller Anderson closes the door when it becomes clear Hank doesn't intend to say anything more.

He isn't quite sure what more there might be to say, but he stares at the closed door for a few seconds, listening to the sounds coming from the other side of it.

Feet are moving within the apartment, likely RK helping Connor take his boots off. "What happened?" Fabric rasps against fabric next, then a wall - the lieutenant's jacket and sweater hung up, Hank guesses. He turns, looking down the length of the hallway, and starts to move, slowly though, so that he can hear Connor's response.

"I- we debriefed, and tested something. Nothin' important, really."

RK scoffs but doesn't contest that, instead asking something different. "And where did you do this testing?" Connor is quiet, shuffling his feet. "Con." No sounds now, not even that which would indicate movement. "I'll call the 'droid back."

"At- at the park," finally comes a response, the lieutenant's voice soft, and Hank finds his pace slowing to a stop. Connor sounds small, wary... ashamed, perhaps?

"Connor," RK says, his voice breaking on his brother's name. "Fuck, why do you keep doing that to yourself?"

That seems to be Hank's cue to get out of the building, before Connor describes any more of their most recent outing. RK would likely react negatively, and Hank is the only being available to reasonably assign blame to, aside from the lieutenant himself. Hank would rather not face the quiet wrath of the taller Anderson twin, having experienced plenty from the lieutenant and heard ~~\- worse -~~ more about his brother.

He should probably feed the Lieutenant's dogs, too.

 

**< SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED>**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I find I kinda like RK900 having the nickname 'Nines'? so that's a thing here. And his name is Richard Keenan (Anderson), therefore shortened to RK because he'd rather that than some of the other nicknames for Richard, with Nines being a more private nn  
> YES they're twins. Probably not identical, because hello brown vs blue eyes, also I like the idea of a several inches height difference, which doesn't happen with identical twins raised in the same environments unless there's major illness/disease effects at play. So yeah, they're an unusually similar set of fraternal twins.
> 
> Connor is the sort of person to wash his hair regularly, but if he misses a wash and his hair starts getting gross, he just pretends everything's normal, and other people just... don't care, prolly in part because he doesn't care.  
> Nines is the sort that, if his hair gets gross, he provides anyone who looks at him sideways with a complimentary glare for their time.


	4. <Russian Roulette> part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: the IMPLIED/REFERENCED SELF-HARM tag applies to THIS chapter. it is relatively vague and occurs/begins about halfway through the chapter.  
> it will likely be a significant theme (background and/or directly discussed) in the NEXT chapter.

Hank stands in front of the door, waiting. He reaches out, presses the doorbell again, but this time holds it for a few seconds. There's sounds of movement now, and the barking of a dog. No, two dogs, with a fair size difference between them, judging by the timbre of the barks. There's nothing else, and the dogs quiet after a moment. The lieutenant isn't answering the door. He does appear to be home though, because his 1988 Buick Century is in the driveway. Hank takes a step to the side, peers in the small four-pane window beside the door and above a planter full of purple flowers. A small side query quickly identifies the flowers as lavender.

Lieutenant Anderson, however, is still not visible.

Hank considers the next window briefly, but it's a little too high with a hedge of lavender placed along the wall below it. He turns, stepping down the stairs, and walks through the gate, exiting the fenced front yard. There's a window here, in front of the car, and Hank takes a look, but part of the view in is obstructed by a television screen, only part of a grey couch visible beyond it. He continues walking, turning to follow the side of the house. Another window, this one in the style commonly known as a 'bay window'. Hank focuses on the interior of the house that he can see as he approaches it. There's art on the wall; a series, it looks like, four pieces made up of sweeping brushstrokes and softly contrasting colours. He had not expected art from the lieutenant, although the lavender had been a surprise as well.

A few more steps brings him to the part of the window that is set parallel to the wall of the house, and he turns to look through. He sees a triangular loveseat, an accent table, a lamp, two large dog beds, a round table with four chairs set around it, and- Lieutenant Anderson, presumably, laying on his side on the floor.

"Lieutenant!" Hank calls before calculating the likelihood of his voice reaching the man through the glass and across the entire house. Right. He steps back, considering which pane of the bay window to break through, but the loveseat, accent table, and lamp are awkwardly placed for a window entry. Getting in fast is important, but so is not damaging himself too severely in the process.

On the opposite side of the house there's another window, that one opening into nearly empty space. He moves, dashing back to the front of the house and through the gate, across the yard and then he vaults over the fence, crushing some low blue flowers underfoot. Oh well. Hank is standing in front of the other window a moment later and raises his elbow, smashing the glass. He backs up a few paces, then jumps, pulling himself through the window and rolling as he falls to the floor.

He's greeted immediately by a large tri-coloured face. He freezes for a moment as he recalls information-

**> CANINE HAIRS >Saint Bernard Dog >Welsh Springer Spaniel**

**> I call him Sumo**

"Heyy there, Sumo. I'm a friend. See? I'm here to help your owner." Hank raises one hand, palm open in front of the dog. It whuffles gently at his hand and walks away, apparently pacified.

Hank stands, absently cataloguing additional details of the interior of the house as he strides over to the lieutenant's side. The man is breathing regularly, if a little slowly, and his pulse is steady. Conclusion: **Lieutenant Anderson is unconscious**. Hank drops to one knee, taking a moment to analyze the scene-

**> TRACES OF ALCOHOL ON SHIRT SLEEVE >Caramel liqueur**

**> UNMARKED BOTTLE, EMPTY HIGHBALL GLASS ON COUNTER >Homemade caramel liqueur >Less than 2 oz missing from bottle**

**> 1.2" CUT ON DORSAL LEFT FOREARM NEAR WRIST; SEVEN SHALLOW CUTS ON ANTERIOR THIGHS RANGING 0.54"-1.55"**

**> BLOOD ON THE FLOOR >Eight separate drops visible; long, thin streaks of blood extending from Lt Anderson towards the dining table**

**> BONING KNIFE UNDER DINING TABLE >Traces of blood on blade and handle**

Hank has a basic understanding of the situation now, but the evidence does not sufficiently explain why the lieutenant is unconscious on the floor. He taps the man's face. "Lieutenant Anderson. Wake up Lieutenant. It's me, Hank. Wake up." The lieutenant stirs, his eyes fluttering open.

"H'nk," he says, voice barely more than a rasp. He blinks and sets one clumsy hand on the floor, as if to lever himself up, but his fingers slip on the linoleum, leaving behind a smear of red.

"Allow me to assist you," Hank announces, grasping the man's arm and lifting his torso off the floor, setting his back and shoulders against the cupboard. The lieutenant's body looks comfortable in this position; certainly more so than the way he was collapsed on the floor.

**> Lieutenant Anderson was sitting on the floor before falling asleep?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ending it here, primarily because I want to continue but in Connor's POV  
> brief appearance by Dog! whoo!  
> my google search history over the past few days is looking darker and darker because of this fic......  
> ALSO I was trying to google Hank's car? expecting that someone would have identified it but apparently not?? (or I'm not looking in the right places...) BUT based on my experiences with Buicks and a brief search session, my conclusion is that it looks like a 1984/5 2-door/coupe


	5. <Russian Roulette> part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS: the IMPLIED/REFERENCED SELF-HARM, ANXIETY, DEPRESSION, PAST CHARACTER DEATH apply to THIS chapter. Self-harm is reflected upon, but no new action is taken.
> 
> wow okay almost 3500 words here... side note, I am placing exactly zero word count goals/intentions for every chapter, ex I like to have somewhere between 1000 and 2000 words in a chapter, generally, but for this one I'm just writing the scene/story section until it's done, and that's that.

"This's not what it looks like," Connor mumbles abruptly, blinking. A moment later, he opens his mouth again to clarify. "Wait- I mean it is, but- but it isn't. _Fuck._ I'm not- I don't-" He gives up eventually, dropping his head into his hands and groaning softly.

"Lieutenant," Hank says, voice slightly softer than usual. "I do not need to know; however, I will insist that you take care of your wounds. Risking an infection is ill-advised."

Connor snorts. "I c'n take care of myself. You can go 'way." He definitely won't do as good a job taking care of himself as Hank would, but he sort of doesn't want the android touching him right now.

"Considering the actions you were taking prior to falling asleep on the floor, that would be negligent of me." There it goes in that logical tone, almost berating him. Was that distaste in Hank's tone? Disgust, maybe?

Connor shakes his head. He's overthinking. Probably. He lifts his head far enough to peek at Hank and finds a lack of emotion on the android's face, as per fucking usual. That's just as bad, Connor thinks, as blatant disapproval. Nines would never- No, actually, his brother would disapprove, just quietly. Connor can see a hint of it some days, in the concerned glances that land on him slightly longer than necessary, in the way Nines sighs on the days that he finishes work to head straight to a bar, in the eyerolls when Connor zones out and Nines has to repeat his name several times when they've been trying to get through one report for way too long - though he isn't sure how much of that disapproval is his imagination. Maybe he projects, sometimes. Or a lot of the fucking time probably. But if Nines knew about the cutting, like Hank does now? Connor shudders. Self harm is a big _no-no,_ but sometimes he-

Sometimes work gets overwhelming (though he should stop bringing work home with him, he's sure that doesn't help) and sometimes he gets agitated or numb, or both at the same time. And sometimes he needs to do something, needs to set his concentration on something small, and some of those times he doesn't have anything to fidget with for focusing on, because sometimes his quarter is still in the pocket of his jeans that are already in a heap all the way across the house in his bedroom, which is too fucking far, he really needs to come up with a way to counteract that issue. And those times he just- it just happens, sort of, and a few seconds or a few minutes later he's washing blood off his legs and hands but the important part is that his hands are _steady_ , and his mind is clear, calm.

He takes a deep breath, focusing on that calm. And becomes aware, properly, of the headache he's got from crying himself to sleep on the floor earlier. He starts to unfold himself so he can stand, but Hank is there, still crouched beside him - or again, rather, because the android is holding out a glass of water.

"Here," Hank says, pushing the glass into Connor's hand. "You need to drink this; your body is slightly dehydrated." Connor nods, brief and jerky, and wraps his fingers securely around the cup. It's cool to the touch, and he raises it to drink, letting his eyes drop closed as the water slides down his throat.

He can feel Hank watching him, but he tries to ignore the android, clinging to his sense of calm and the refreshment the water offers. It works, for a few seconds, until he feels smooth, warm fingers encircling his left wrist, turning his palm up and moving his hand away from him.

Connor's eyes fly open as he snatches his hand back, clutching his water to his chest. "Don't, don't t-touch me," he stammers out, scrabbling on the linoleum to push his body away from Hank. He realizes what he's doing an instant later and feels an embarrassed flush warm his cheeks and neck. Connor turns his head quickly, looking the opposite direction of Hank, towards the dog bowls by the window. "I, um, don't like… Sometimes I-" He stops speaking, licks his lips and tries to get his words in the order he wants them in. "Please," he settles on, making it a request instead of a panicked outburst. "Please don't, um, touch me."

Hank is leaning back on his heels, hands held close to his torso in a non-threatening pose. "Okay, I won't," he says, still in that odd soft voice. Connor swallows, cradling injured hand and glass of water close. He isn't sure what emotion is emulated in Hank's careful tone - pity? sympathy? concern even?

It's easy enough to shift his head sideways and glance at Hank. The android is watching him, but his gaze isn't heavy or accusatory, and he's still leaning back where he's crouched in a position that no human would be able to hold quite this long. Hank doesn't look at all uncomfortable of course, or like his body is straining to stay still there. It's weird, definitely - but the fact that Hank is capable of staying so still and has been using that ability is… soothing when Connor feels like he is now, when he can't stand the idea of anyone touching him unless he initiates contact. He doesn't like feeling like this, mostly because Nines isn't always exempt from the No Touching, and Nines is the best at calming him, taking care of him when days like today happen.

Speaking of taking care of him… Connor unfolds his left hand, moving it a little farther from where he had tucked it against his body. There's a cut stretching almost three quarters across the top of his palm, thankfully not deep, but still long. It- Connor blinks, surprised a little. It hurts, more than he would have expected, and he's abruptly aware that the pain of the cut is warring with the pounding in his head.

Unaware that Hank is updating the record of his injuries tonight [ **> 2.47" CUT ABOVE DISTAL PALMAR CREASE ON LEFT HAND**], Connor puts his glass on the floor, using his newly freed hand to push off the linoleum and get to a standing position, leaning his hip against the counter once he's upright. "Can you, uh, can you get my cup?" he asks quietly, meeting Hank's gaze for a fraction of a second. The android complies immediately, shifting forward onto his knees and reaching out to grab the glass at a slower pace than necessary. Hank flicks his eyes up to Connor as he moves back, and he realizes that Hank's moving carefully to ensure he doesn't touch or startle Connor. That's… the sort of thing Nines knows to do, thanks to years of experience, but something the android seems to have picked up on within a few minutes of Connor's outburst.

Connor averts his eyes, turning to the sink. He turns on the water, holding a few fingers under the stream as he adjusts the temperature. It takes a few seconds and some careful adjustments, but he finds that comfortably warm-but-not-hot point. He takes a quick breath in anticipation, then sets his left arm under the flow of water, letting it flow down to his fingers. It hurts. _Fuck,_ it hurts but he has to do this, has to wipe enough of the blood away to properly see what he's dealing with. The cut on his arm isn't as terrible as it could be, though he grits his teeth against the sharpness of the pain as he brushes at his palm as softly as he can. That one's gonna be a bitch to work with, awkward to bandage and awkward to do anything resembling clenching that hand for a while.

His fingers are shaking. The water flowing over his hand is clear, but his fingers are shaking and that is Not Good- But a quick glance at his other hand helps Connor to take a slow breath. His right hand is uninjured and steady, so there's probably a correlation there. Also, the water is starting to run cool. He turns the faucet off and opens the nearest drawer, pulling out a washcloth.

"Hank, can you, uh go-" Connor turns, dabbing carefully at his arm, and sees that the android is standing by the table, a smooth white case already set out and opened. "Oh, thanks," he murmurs, moving a few steps to the table and sitting down. He grabs the first aid kit, spins it around, and grabs the stash of band-aids, throwing them on the table and shuffling through them, choosing the best sized one. It's quick work to peel off the plastic covering and slap it on his arm, but he finds himself staring at the cut on his palm again. He rifles through the band-aids again, looking for the longest one remaining - it's maybe half as long as he needs. He flicks his gaze up to Hank, who is watching Sumo as he wanders back into the kitchen. The big dog flops down on the floor near Connor's feet. "Hey uh, Hank, can you help me for a sec here?"

Hank's eyes rise, and his head tilts as he looks down to Connor's hand and the too-small band-aids spread out across the table. "How would you like me to assist, Lieutenant?"

Connor blows out a breath and dives back in to the first aid kit. He pulls out a 4x4 square of gauze and a roll of first aid tape, setting them on the table. "Can you, um, can-" The agitation is back. To do this, he's going to need Hank to touch him. He doesn't- Mm nope. Connor curves the fingers of his right hand to tap his fingernails against the table in lieu of fiddling with his coin. He just needs to… This is small, basic, the physical touch won't last long. It's simple. It _should_ be simple, but Connor can't- He still doesn't want Hank touching him. "Um," he says, staring down at the table.

Silvery white comes into the edge of his view. "Would this make it easier?" Hank asks, spreading his fingers. He… took his skin off? Or dissolved it, or peeled it back, or however androids do it. That's weird to think about, buuut it's off topic. Connor blinks. Licks his lips, then raised his hand, touching Hank's index finger cautiously. It's- weird. Logically, Connor knows it's plastic, or metal, depending on which part of an android's body it is, but a finger still… feels like a finger. Connor puts his whole hand against Hank's, taking note of the differences with a thoughtful frown on his face. Smoother than skin. Warm, still, seemingly inhumanly so, but he knows that androids run slightly warmer than humans and the difference is that their heat is perfectly distributed across every inch of the body. There's no give when he squeezes, or at least not enough for him to register it as such.

"Huh. That… That might be okay." Connor will fucking force himself to be okay with that if he has to. He needs help to treat this cut, or it'll be a miserable mess smothered in tape and he'll have to get it redone by someone later anyways. "Okay, we're doing this." Connor tears into the gauze wrapping and folds the square into thirds, finishing with a 4x1.3 inch gauze pad. "I'm going to hold this over the cut, then you, uh, you put strips of this tape on each side, to hold it in place. Got it?"

Hank nods silently, taking hold of the tape roll and tugging the end up. Connor takes a deep breath and sets the gauze across his palm, holding it down with barely a touch of his fingers. He looks up as Hank leans in a little, holding out a short length of the first aid tape. Connor looks away, letting Hank smooth the tape down with his weird fingers while he distracts himself by staring at Fish, who's settled herself down in front of the door.

"That's why I'm always pushing you away silly," he says, and the springer spaniel lifts her head to blink mismatched eyes at him. "If you didn't wait so close to the door, there wouldn't be a problem." Fish thumps her tail against the ground once, twice, then rests her chin back down on her paws.

"All done," Hank announces, and Connor turns back to see that the android has already stepped back, four neat strips of tape edging the gauze pad. Connor nods, ignoring Hank for a moment as he reaches back to the first aid kit, pulling out a conforming bandage roll. He'd rather wrap his hand up a little more, making it more useless but also better protected. So he does that, while Hank presumably watches him, going all the way around his hand three times before grabbing the pair of scissors he keeps on the table (or sometimes the kitchen counters, but usually the table) to snip the woven bandage. He smooths the end down and snips a small piece of tape to secure it.

"Okay," he says softly, flexing his fingers a little and quickly deciding to avoid doing that again. "Thanks."

"I'll return this to where I found it," Hank says, already reaching for the conform roll.

"Thanks," Connor repeats, standing after a moment. He looks at the table, looks at the way Hank is gathering supplies up and slotting them back in the first aid kit. He feels like he should help, but at the same time, he just wants to relax. So he turns away, walking slowly across the room to the couch in front of the TV. He drops down into it and swings his feet up, setting his heels on the coffee table that should probably be cleaned off. He hasn't eaten anything out of a bowl for at least a week, so that's one way to date the mess. Not right now though. Right now he's just… tired.

He's aware of Hank pulling up one of the kitchen chairs and sitting in it, but neither of them say anything for several seconds. Connor tugs the sleeves of his hoodie down, covering up at least the band-aid on his arm. He tugs at the hem of his shorts too, pretending that they're long enough to hide the cuts on his legs too. As if.

"Can I ask you a question, Lieutenant?"

This will probably only show Hank the exact depths of fucked up Connor is, but he shrugs, gaze on his feet as he says, "Sure."

"There are many healed scars on your legs," the android starts, and Connor closes his eyes, tipping his head backwards against the top of the couch.

"Yeah?" he prompts when Hank pauses for a few seconds. He isn't going to open his eyes though, he doesn't want to watch Hank's face as he asks him about self-injury and suicidal tendencies-

"There are fresh cuts on your legs, as well. I did notice, however, that the cuts on your forearm and palm are the only two visible, new or old." Hank hesitates again, but Connor doesn't feel like prodding him to continue again. "What happened?"

Oh, okay. That isn't nearly as bad as Connor thought it would be. He scoffs, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. "Dropped the knife," he answers, and he imagines that he can hear a whirring sound as Hank's LED cycles yellow on the edge of his vision. "I uh, tried to catch it. Not my brightest moment."

"I understand Lieutenant, thank you for clarifying." The android sounds satisfied with his explanation, and they're both quiet.

It's funny, Nines cares about Connor - loves him - but would be laying into him with a verbal lashing after furiously helping to bandage his wounds. Hank, however… Hank doesn't care for him, isn't programmed to have the ability, and yet the android's response is far more favourable. Connor doesn't want a lecture. Actually, someone telling him this is Bad and he should Never Do This, Ever Again and Why Are You Hurting Yourself, There Are Non-Harmful Coping Techniques would not be useful. Anything like that would slip in one ear and out the other, because he already _knows_ all of that. He doesn't think this is fun; he doesn't _want_ to do this. It's not 'cool' or fashionable or socially acceptable, he fucking knows. Nines would be all over him, spouting shit just like that. That wouldn't change anything.

This though, Hank… Connor wonders if it would make more of a difference, if Hank is around and reacts like this every time - just calm acceptance and quiet wound care. Maybe. He remembers, upon catching sight of an errant glow-in-the-dark star, that his overall best weeks and months were those when the other bedroom was occupied, when there was another regular human presence in his home. The dogs are great, the dogs help, but sometimes Fish is a too-painful reminder of different times, of times when- Of times before their family was sliced in half.

Connor whistles, and the clicking of nails on wood floor answers immediately. A moment later, he's patting his legs and getting a double lapful of thick fur. He drops his head, leaning over and breathing in the scent of dog fur that is a week or two past his intended wash date. He wrinkles his nose but doesn't move, allowing himself to just take in the feeling of a warm, living thing that doesn't care about self-harm beyond the fact that the gauze and medical tape around the top of his palm maybe affects the quality of pets that hand can give out.

Perhaps that's why it feels sort of okay for Hank to have seen him tonight, because he's like the dogs. He just… doesn't care.

"Thanks," Connor murmurs, lifting his head off of Sumo for a moment. Hank is sitting in the dining chair still, watching passively, and something occurs to Connor that almost has him pushing the dogs off the couch. Not quite though. "Did you… You came over for a reason?"

The android tips his head from side to side. "Yes; there's been a new case assigned to us. However, I assessed the situation and concluded that immediate action was not entirely necessary."

Connor sits, staring blankly at Hank for a moment. A new case assigned to them - another human dead then, most likely. "Tell me," he demands, fingers flexing in the dogs' fur as he tamps down on the urge to get up and get moving right away. Timing is sometimes critical in homicide investigations, and though Hank said he'd 'assessed' it, there's always a possibility that he is missing information that could skew the calculation.

"A homicide was reported 51 minutes ago, at the Eden Club downtown," Hank says, reciting the case like a report.

One of the android sex clubs. Great. Connor had set foot in one exactly once, and he wasn't impressed with what he saw before turning and walking out, ditching his friend to do whatever the fuck she wanted there. He'd done some research afterwards, upon her request, and turned up some interesting information, but most of it was the sort of trashy facts that he didn't need or want to remember. But wait - 51 minutes ago… "Off the couch," Connor orders abruptly. The dogs leap down quickly, picking up on his sharp tone. He stands, striding around the couch towards his room, offering Hank only a brief glance as he passes the android. "We have to get down there, if we need to review video footage, our best bet is the sex bots themselves, and they're all hard programmed to erase memory after a set period of time." Hank says _'oh´_ so softly Connor wonders if he'd imagined the sound. But the android is moving, shifting weight making the chair creak against the floor.

Connor hurries into his bedroom, heading straight to the pile of clothing he'd stripped off after getting home, jeans right on top. He trades his shorts for the soft denim, dragging them up his legs then kicking at the pile while fumbling with the button and belt. His jacket is- somewhere? Oh right, he'd gotten coffee on the sleeve. He huffs a sigh and leaves the room, striding to the door where there's a coat hanging. Lighter-weight, but better than nothing.

"Hank?" he calls out, realizing the android is no longer near the couch. He hears soft words and turns, seeing Hank crouched in the kitchen and petting Fish and Sumo at the same time, one hand on each dog. "Hank, let's get moving!"

"Coming Lieutenant!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I've been sitting with most of this chapter done for two days now, I just completely squicked myself out trying to do wound care research? So I started writing fluffy brother scenes as something that was still in this story universe but were ~different~ and they will eventually end up posted as well. probably
> 
> smtms I end up in a state of mind/being where I just lowkey can't stand other people touching me? though of course I tend to notice it when I'm stuck in a place where it's almost impossible for other people to not touch me like sitting shoulder to shoulder with othr ppl in a sports arena for example. and sometimes I just want to scream. so yeah, drawing a little bit on that personal experience to give to Connor (I'm doing that a fair bit? or at least pulling on multiple little experiences that I slide in for that poor boy to juggle)
> 
> Also, I have one more scene that I've been writing, but after that I'm not sure if I'm going to do any more. I may write some 'extra' scenes that are not at all in the game, but jury's out on that for now.


	6. <Meet Kamski>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much to say here... no relevant tags that I can think of

Hank turns towards the car, his face carefully blank while he waits, and Connor just wants to make that stoic expression- Connor just wants to know. "You keep saying you'd do anything to complete your mission," he says, putting forth a calm front he doesn't quite feel. Hank's LED is blue still, but it flickers once. Maybe Connor shouldn't push right after a stressful event, but he wants to see something other than cool neutrality on that face. "That was our chance to learn something, and you let it go."

The android's shoulders tense beneath the fitted jacket and that's the only warning Connor gets before Hank whirls around, stepping towards him. "Yeah yeah, I know what I shoulda done! I just told you, I couldn't. I'm sorry, alright?"

Connor doesn't move, though he's sure it's because he's rooted to the snowy ground in shock, not out of indifference to the android's reaction. The NK800 was clearly built to be intimidating, not that he's ever done a thing to hurt the detective. And that- huh, that's a thought in and of itself, isn't it? Goodness knows there had been perfectly reasonable opportunities, some intentional on Connor's part when he's on autopilot and just saying stuff to get a rise out of his conversation partner, but Hank hadn't risen to the taunts. Not yet at least. Connor sucks in a breath, the cold air stinging his throat a little. He glances to the car, then back to Hank, avoiding the temptation to scuff his feet against the ground. "Yeah, well maybe you did the right thing." He pulls one hand out of his pocket, bringing the car keys up and walks past Hank, careful to keep his gaze fixed on his car. Suddenly he isn't sure if he wants to see any expression on Hank's face.

They're both silent as Connor unlocks the car and climbs in, Hank following suit half a beat behind him.

While Hank is shutting the passenger door, he huffs a soft breath. "If refusing to needlessly shoot an android for the sole purpose of satisfying one man's curiosity makes me deviant, then maybe we should all start ignoring our programming," the android grumbles, and Connor starts at the admission. He looks sideways quickly, but Hank's eyes are set straight ahead, somewhere beyond the edge of the vehicle. There's no hint of emotion or hesitation in his frame, nothing to suggest the comment had come from him but for the fact that he's the only one there.

Connor opts to ignore the words, slotting the key into the ignition and turning the car on with a flick of his wrist. That's… interesting, at the least, and seriously concerning at worst. If Hank is thinking stuff like that, and confident enough in his conclusions to vocalize them, Connor thinks that's starting to sound a lot like the deviancy they're supposed to be investigating and figuring out how to stop. Kamski had said something of the like - _"CyberLife's only hope is itself a deviant"_ \- but Connor had brushed it off on account of being made uncomfortable about the entire situation himself. He'd tried to pull Hank away, but… the android hadn't listened to him, just stood there, stock still but for the LED whirring solid yellow and moving his head to keep Kamski just on the edge of his gaze. Connor did not at all like that display, and he wonders how much of Hank's decision was because he could see a living being that did not deserve to die, and how much was logical - _"refusing to needlessly shoot an android for the sole purpose of satisfying one man's curiosity…"_ The statement was logical, rational, but Connor thinks that it still feels dangerous. He keeps his thoughts to himself though, because Hank is still staring blankly out the windshield, probably hoping that Connor won't push him any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, but I don't feel like I really have much more to say for this chapter?  
> anyways yep  
> I think most of what else is going to get written and posted is ~Extra Scenes that are not rewrites of game content


	7. Self-endangerment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra scene! Extra scene! oh boy!  
> set after "On the Run" (primarily a Kara game chapter which is not included in this fic)  
> [therefore set after **"Partners"** and before all other currently posted chapters]  
>  had no idea what to call this chapter soooo the chap title is what it is
> 
> Mentions of self-endangerment, very vague mentions of Past Character Death

"Does your brother have a history of this type of thing?" he hears Hank say. "Reckless behaviour?"

Connor frowns. Reckless behaviour? Him?

Logically, he knows that the android must be talking to Nines, but it still throws him off a bit to hear Nines' response. "I'm not certain I understand what you mean by reckless behaviour." Uh oh. Connor knows that tone, that's the 'what is my twin doing now,' the mostly concerned, vaguely suspicious tone that says the danger of a lecture in his near future is becoming real.

"Let me put it another way," Hank says, sounding a little too cheerful. "Needless endangerment of himself? Taking unnecessary risks?"

Connor can visualize Nines' face darkening as he catches on to Hank's meaning. "Fuck," Connor says, quiet but vehement, turning right about and shuffling around the police aide android that had exited the elevator with him. "Scuse me." He hurries back towards the elevators, but veers to the side as Officer Chen enters the one open elevator. He aims for the stairs instead, climbing them two at a time as he heads up to… hm, which department would Nines be least likely to look for him in? Connor goes everywhere, as needed, but what does he avoid when possible and complain about the most?

A hand drops onto his shoulder a step after he reaches the landing, heavy enough to disrupt his thoughts and force him to stop where he is. Connor turns, offers Nines the best smile he can muster up - which is a pretty pathetic, nervous attempt. "Nines! Hey, I was just heading up to… uh…" The near murderous look on his brother's face has his words fading away, the fib dying before completion.

Nines' eyes flicker to somewhere behind Connor, and then he's shoving Connor backwards, pinning him with the wall at his back and Nines' arm set solidly across his chest. "Connor."

He is in so much trouble. He just knows, because he learned years and years ago that that dangerously soft tone of voice is the precurser to _'you almost got yourself killed,'_ to _'I can't trust you to take care of yourself can I,'_ to _'what were you thinking,'_  and _'I'll kill you myself if you do anything like that again Connor, I swear.'_

Connor may be the older twin, but that in no way gives him a free pass on his more… hazardous decisions. And depending on how much Nines knows about the morning's excursion, he really might make good on one of those threats this time.

"Yes Nines," he says simply, deciding that going for any sort of joke will be received badly.

"Why was your android telling me something about you trying to cross an interstate this morning?"

 _"My_ android?" Connor blurts without thinking. "Hell Nines, I don't want the thing any more than it wants me!" His brother's eyes narrow at the tangent, and Connor quickly readjusts his focus. "Look, the deviant was dragging a kid with her, Nines, was I supposed to let her do whatever she wanted without trying to stop her?"

Nines presses harder against his chest, pairing the pressure with a verbal rebuke. "And what about you, huh? Stopping deviants is great, but you aren't gonna close any cases from a hospital bed!"

Oh. Nines' voice had cracked on those last few words, and Connor gets it now. Nines hadn't been there. He hadn't seen it, experienced it, all he had was the NK800's account of the morning's investigation, just like-. Nines is now awarded the courtesy of finding out from a fucking prototype that Connor had been ready to throw himself over a fence and on to that interstate, with the android's iron grip around his arm the only thing to stop him. Nines knows how close to danger Connor had put himself with hardly a second thought, and Nines hadn't been there to talk him down, to convince him to consider more rational options.

 Nines could have lost him on some damned road too, and there would have been nothing he could do.

Connor grips his brother's arms, swallows hard. "I'm here," he croaks. "Nines, it's okay, I'm sorry. I didn't realize how that- I'm here, I'm fine." Nines' eyes squeeze shut and he lets out a breath through gritted teeth.

"Fuck, Con," he whispers, leaning forwards to drop his forehead against the wall, and Connor's arms migrate to around his brother's back, wrapping him in a hug.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Connor babbles quietly.

This sort of scene… isn't terribly unusual for them. They've always been easy with calling each other out on the stupid stuff they do, and comforting touches can be seen a few times a month in the station - though they typically limit physical affection to reassuring hands on shoulders, or tapping their fists together, or walking closer together than necessary just so their arms brush every few steps. Hugs are rare, but sometimes a hug is what's needed.

"That is a bad habit though," Nines eventually murmurs, slipping his arm out from between them and pulling Connor off the wall to hug back briefly. "You do have a tendency to take a more direct route even when the prospect of bodily harm should tip the decision against it."

Connor huffs as Nines steps back. "We already knew I'm not rational all the time. That's you." He flashes a grin and turns, hurrying down the stairs back to the bullpen. Nines sighs loud enough for the sound to reach him, but the ensuing footsteps are steady. He's not going to bother chasing Connor this time then.

It might be something to keep in mind though, Nines' fear for his safety. What makes his brother happy - more often than not - makes Connor happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> joke's on you Con, you do keep Nines' concern for you in mind! it just isn't always conscious!  
> [aka, yes Connor engages in self destructive habits (alcohol, self-harm, suicide ideation/attempts) but everything he does A. is controlled so he knows he'll be fine, see alcohol, self-harm, or B. has a safety net (see ch 'The Bridge, pt 2'), like giving Nines or someone else the opportunity to stop his behaviour before it's ~permanent, ex "not well thought out" suicide attempts]
> 
> ALSO! I seem to recall reading a line in another fic that mentioned the police station being one floor?! haven't bothered pulling up video or pics to try and confirm, buuuut for this chapter of this fic (possibly more future chapters too) I guess it's multi-floor now, upwards (haven't thought fully about sub-levels) *shrugs*


	8. Meet NK900

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it occurs to me? that I'm suddenly not sure?? if I ever actually said Hank's model????  
> [it's NK800 btw]  
> [[mostly because I had initially planned on giving Connor and Nines a surname starting with K, then decided to have normal people Nines knows call him RK, so by that point I definitely wasn't gonna use RK800 and RK900]]  
> (sorta scene break of like an hour or something at the double horizontal line cause I A. didn't really wanna write through a whole bunch of filler and B. just wanted to update with another chapter. so yeah)

"What's happening?" Nines asks after hovering silently behind Connor's shoulder for a few long seconds. Connor shrugs but can't quite help the way his gaze flicks up and across the desks to Hank. The android is staring off to an indeterminate point, one hand shiny white on the computer screen while he interfaces with it.

"We're supposed to be getting something new in the station," Connor says, finally turning far enough to look up at his brother. "Someone, maybe. Hank knows a little bit more than that, but he hasn't said a word. Been on the computer since before I got in." Connor and Nines both look at Hank, staring at the android. The combined weight of their gazes doesn't faze him though, and Connor shrugs again. "I don't know. I figured I might as well focus on work while it's quiet."

Nines hums, displeased with his answer.

* * *

 

* * *

 

"Why does that thing look like Hank, but younger?" Nines hisses, his shoulders hunched and arms crossed.

Connor props his chin on his hand as he looks over at the NK900 where it's standing with Hank and Fowler. "They don't look that much alike," he offers. "Less than you and me, for sure. Body shape's different, and so is his jawline. NK900 looks like he'd be rude."

"So does Hank!"

Connor rolls his eyes and turns back to his computer, opening the next file. Nines is in his sulky cat mode right now, where he doesn't really want his opinions proven otherwise and where he's a tall, unwanted thundercloud at Connor's shoulder. Connor refuses to let his brother bring him down to that sulky level though. He's had a _good_ few days recently. "Hank's only rude when he has to be, otherwise he's pretty nice. Did you know he can cook, by the way? It isn't in his original programming, but he's got a loophole or allowance or something that lets him have easy access to bits and pieces of programming that other models were given. You should come over for dinner tomorrow, he's planning something proper and _healthy_."

Nines is staring at him like he's grown a second head. It's certainly better than glowering across the room at the new android, but it's still a little bothersome when Connor's trying to be productive. "Are you serious. Con."

"About coming over tomorrow? Yeah, you know I always am."

"Connor, no, I mean, Hank's still living with you? _Cooking_ for you?"

Connor frowns, spinning his chair to stare up at Nines. "Yyyess? You know I've got the space for another person." Why is Nines suddenly leaning in with the _Interrogation Look_ on his face? What is happening?

"Is he- Are you-" Connor tilts his head to convey his confusion. Nines is having an awful lot of trouble finishing whatever question he wants to ask.

"You okay?"

"Fuck," Nines mutters, and glances around them, checking if anyone's paying attention to them. He lowers his tone, leans down closer to Connor. "Are you two… you know, uh…" Connor blinks, still confused. Nines shudders and squeezes his eyes shut before finally spitting out a full question. "Areyouguysfucking?"

"What?" Connor says, his voice rising into something more than halfway to a shriek. "No, Nines- God no, what makes you think that- that we're- No!" He's blushing, and he understands now why Nines was trying to be covert. They're both blushing actually, cheeks and necks flushed with embarrassment. Chris shoots them a concerned expression from beyond Nines, raising an eyebrow in question. Connor flaps a hand at him and spins his chair to face his computer screen, leaning forwards to drop his forehead against the desk. "God, Nines," he groans, "why'd you make me even think about that? Go away, I hate you."

"Wait, can he even- Would specialized prototype models be able to-" Connor groans wordlessly to drown out his brother's voice. That is really not- He did not need that thought anywhere in his brain, nope-

"Be able to do what?" Hank asks, sounding much _much_ closer than he had been the last that Connor was aware of.

Connor straightens so fast he almost feels dizzy before planting his elbows on the desk and dropping his head into his hands, shutting his eyes so he doesn't have to watch any of this play out. "Please remove this man from my desk Hank," he mutters, the request muffled. Hank apparently hears just fine though, because his shoes tap against the floor as he walks around Connor's chair, and Nines is jumping down, making the desk shake under the change in pressure.

"I'm good, it's all good, talk to you later Con, see you Hank, bye," Nines says quickly, shuffling around the desk about as fast as he can move. Connor can't help but laugh into his hands, finally lifting his head in time to watch his brother nearly run across the bullpen.

"Nice work Hank," he says through a grin, turning to look at the android. "That was impressive."

Hank's eyebrows are furrowed, his head tilted a little. "I don't understand, RK does not typically react to my presence like that."

Connor snorts. "Don't worry about it, that was uh, an atypical situation. We were discussing some stuff that does not need repeating, and Nines ran away because he's a coward!" He shouts the last three words, curving his fingers into a heart shape accompanied by a smile when his brother turns and glares. He turns back to Hank with a grin, noticing that the NK900 has followed over to Connor's desk as well. "Oh, hey," he says, looking up to the android's face. It isn't nearly as tall as Hank - actually, Connor might have a couple inches on it.

"Lieutenant Anderson," the NK900 greets him, and Connor gets the distinct impression that it has already looked over his desk and come to a series of conclusions, much like Hank had done at first. He wonders, abruptly, if the NK900 is already deviant, or if it somehow hasn't changed from original programming. It occurs to him, next, that he really shouldn't think of the NK900 as an 'it' but rather 'he.'

"Do you have a name?" Connor asks. NK900 tilts his head at him. "An alternative designation to 'NK900,' like the way humans use common names for each other. Like how this is Hank." He gestures to his partner, who is watching the interaction with the faintest smile on his face.

Understanding flashes across NK900's expression. "No, I do not have an official designation," he answers, and his tone is so incredibly indifferent. It's… weird, like someone shoved a younger, physically different Hank-of-three-weeks-ago into the bullpen just to throw them all off after they've adapted to the one investigative prototype.

"Okay." He taps his fingers on the desk for just a moment, considering how to go about this. "Well you're welcome to choose one, and if you need ideas there's always the internet. I'm sure most of us in the department here would be willing to assist if you want as well." That still doesn't deal with the fact that calling him NK900 just feels wrong. "Would it be acceptable to call you 900 for the time being though? NK900 is a bit of a mouthful."

"That is acceptable," 900 says, looking thoughtful.

Fowler yells for Nines. Connor offers him a bright smile as his brother walks past. Nines offers him a glare in return. "Anyways Hank, I was just checking up on the Degens case. I found something we might want to look at again, so did we get-" Connor freezes. Turns to look at where Nines has disappeared into the Captain's office. Turns back to 900 and Hank beside him. Connor's partner is wearing a satisfied smirk. Connor feels a gleeful grin form on his own face. "No, no fucking way- Hank, is 900- is he gonna be assigned to-"

"Hank!" Nines growls. Connor spins to look. His brother looks just about ready to vault the stairs and come throttle the android. He doesn't, however much fun it might be to watch. Instead, Nines descends the steps and stalks across the floor towards them, his piercing gaze levelled on Hank.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my g-" Connor mumbles, biting his lower lip in an attempt to kill his grin. It doesn't really work, but Nines hasn't dropped his eyes from Hank.

"What. The. Hell," Nines says, voice dangerously low and _for once_ that tone isn't levered at Connor.

"Detective Anderson," 900 announces, offering a hand to shake, the action looking a little mechanical. He probably hasn't had much practice at integrating with humans yet. Nines turns his head slowly to glare 900 down, completely ignoring the android's hand. "I am NK900." He shifts his silvery eyes away from Nines to Connor for an instant, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "But you can call me 900, for the time being at least."

Nines looks at Connor, the tiniest flash of desperation in his gaze. Connor shrugs, and Nines straightens his shoulders then turns and marches away without another word or glance of acknowledgement.

"Oh my fucking god," Connor mutters once more before looking up at his android. "Hank, maybe you should give your buddy here a crash course on how to survive my brother."

900 watches Nines retreat to his desk, something resembling intrigue on his face.

Hank sighs heavily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have not really thought about how 900 comes to choose 'Gavin Reed'  
> and I have to admit I have some misgivings about using the name Gavin a whole lot, mostly because I knew a Gavin and while I knew him he did some really Not Good things with me and some other friends of mine soooooo... I also know what you see of Reed in the game is basically a Rude human being, but I really wanna distance my irl specific human experiences from the character
> 
> ALSO I sort of have 3 more scenes written up? but I think only one of them is gonna get posted up here, and I might post the other two bits as works of their own, in a series with this, because they're a fair bit Away from the game plotline, if that makes sense


	9. So Nines.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a short one? leastways it feels kinda short.  
> links in somewhat to the previous chapter, in that it is now Connor's turn to tease/ask daring questions that his brother would probably rather not discuss at their workplace, or ever please and thanks

"So, Nines," Connor says, unable to keep a smirk off his face as he remembers the incredibly awkward conversation his brother had instigated with him a month and a half ago. "Are you two… you know, uh… Are you guys f-" Nines shoves a hand over Connor's mouth, effectively silencing him. Is that- Nines is fucking _blushing!_ Connor grabs his brother's hand, dragging it down to say, "Oh my god, Nines you-"

Nines wrenches his wrist from Connor's grip, plastering his palm over Connor's mouth again. "Shut up!" he hisses, the blush spreading down his neck. "Goddamnit Con, shut the fuck up!"

Connor can't help the manic grin spreading beneath Nines' hand. His brother is practically begging for the teasing with the way he's reacting. He should have _known_ that Connor would act this way, it's not the first time either of them has tormented the other about their love life. Nines is merciless whenever Connor so much as implies that he has a date scheduled. It's only fair that he makes an attempt to return the favour.

Nines' gaze flickers beyond Connor, and the corners of his lips quirk upwards. What… "Gavin," he says, voice deceptively light, and Connor feels a tingle of fear run down his spine. Nines returns his eyes to Connor, and oh boy, yeah, that's a dangerous expression right there promising pain for Connor and amusement for Nines. Time to go. Connor grabs Nines' wrist, tugging the hand away from his mouth and hopping off the edge of Nines' desk. He turns to leave, but Nines has rolled his chair sideways a little, legs stretched out to obstruct Connor's escape. "Gavin babe," Nines drawls.

The android rounds the desk, his eyes on Nines but Connor can't help but feel like all Reed's attention is on him, like he's under a microscope. "Yes, Richard darling?" Oh god, even the android's voice is sickening sweet. Connor needs to get gone, but the easy way is now blocked by both his brother and the android.

"I just love my brother, so much. Don't you?"

As if it was an invitation, Reed turns his head to look at Connor, and he fucking hums thoughtfully. Connor glances at the short edge of the desk blocking him in, trying to estimate how difficult it would be to vault the side there- and when he looks back to Reed, the android has stepped forwards. Reed raises his hands from resting at his sides and quickly sets them against the edge of Nines' desk, caging Connor in with his body. "Hello Lieutenant Anderson," Reed says, his voice dark and promising.

Connor is so- Connor is leaning away from Reed, bending back against the desk a little uncomfortably with his fingers grasping the edge of the desk, just inside of the android's hands. "He-hello," he answers, brain half on autopilot while the other half is shrieking _get away get away geT aWaY-_

Reed leans in, lifts one hand to grab Connor's chin and twist his head, then presses a swift kiss to his cheek. Connor squeaks and scrambles forward through the space Reed has thoughtfully provided him with to escape through. Nines' laughter follows him as he sprints across the bullpen towards the stairs, climbing them two and three at a time. He continues to rush up past the landing where Nines has repeatedly cornered him, reaching the second floor, then the third and only then steps out off the stairs. He shakes his head to clear the thoughts that are beginning to scream at him, and focuses on hurrying halfway across the open space to the breakroom on this floor, throwing his body through the door and letting the momentum carry him to the window, where he collapses into the uncomfortable armchair that's been sitting in the sun for far too many years.

Gulping in a few breaths, Connor drops his head back with a low whine. NK900 is awful. The _worst._

Well no, actually, Nines is the absolute worst, but the fact that Reed follows Nines' lead whenever it comes to Connor sets him firmly in second place. If Nines continues shit like this, Reed is gonna set it as his default Interacting With Connor tendency.

And Connor would rather avoid that, please and thanks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY this is tentatively the end for this particular fic? and by that I mean Imma mark this as complete  
> BUT I totally plan to post at least two other pieces, making this into a series. One is gonna deal with Before, the other is gonna slip in between ch 8 and 9 of this, to show Nines and Gav working together and figuring out how not to be complete asses to each other to show they care (though that bit's mostly Gav tbh)


End file.
